Collared babygirl

“I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing”. T.S. Eliot

There is in me a bit of a scattered splintered spirit. Or is it my mind or heart? Or all of them. Sleeping was impossible last night as I tossed and turned full of so much. The experience of yesterday and the side of me that came out when I fucked hubby’s friend. That friend was on his knees in front of me, while I was on my chair in my bedroom. He had his face buried in my pussy and while his tongue lapped up my wetness, his fingers drove inside me. I was trying so hard to get it on video to send Him, I remember. I almost never have this happen. Someone’s tongue in my pussy, I mean.

Maybe because I don’t feel it’s my place or I’m so wrapped around cock and who I’m fucking that I don’t think about my own pleasure. I have never cum with anyone that I’ve been with other than hubby, of course. I only have cum for Him. He has told me He wants me to cum with others, but I still can’t…or won’t let myself?

I realized when this friend was working on my pussy, I wasn’t there. I felt nothing. I literally couldn’t feel his tongue or fingers. I was lost in this thought of Him. Sending a video of it happening (oddly enough, hubby called and that video was deleted by the call), but there lingered some sort of strange feeling about it. Would that bother Him in any way? That’s probably stupid, but it shot through my mind.

He had just had this experience with me in that chair (OMG…that just occurred to me) where I was told to get up on my knees and imagine HIS mouth and tongue on my pussy. As much as I want that, crave that inside, and it was like a dream cum true to hear Him say that, it literally was as if I couldn’t feel it. I have not been able to accept that. Why? When He told me that day to say the words. What did I want…I shook my head back and forth and said ‘no’. I can’t.

Making those videos of peeing and squirting for Him tapped something deeper than I realized. In fact, I started writing this with a different topic in mind, but here I am. That’s two times I couldn’t handle the idea or feeling of having a mouth on my pussy. Is it deprivation? I do that sometimes. I hold myself away from what I want or sabotage myself so I feel the pain of a mistake or something being ripped away from me; like when He has shut me out and not spoken to me for months at a time. I still swallow hard thinking about that.

Still, I woke this morning feeling mostly good. Mostly quiet. I took some pictures of myself in a neon yellow sheer lace panty and bra and sent it. I don’t know if He liked it, He is probably still sleeping. I do know I felt good sending it. No pretense or forced smile. I just showed myself as is. I dressed and went downstairs and two movers brought in a new wine cooler.

My pussy got wet thinking about how easy it would be to fuck them. They were right there and young, very nice looking Latin guys; one from Honduras, the other from El Salvador. I got down on my knees next to them and helped strip the plastic from the shelves. I could feel how wet I was getting giving in to what I wanted. I know from past experience, sending that vibe out, that they felt it, too. The situation wasn’t perfect though for personal reasons, but also there is a part of me that hasn’t been able to reach out like that in awhile. I feel the desire to do it and make myself available for it, but I stop short somewhere. Fucking someone in a situation like that takes this super elated confident state from me. I don’t make it happen, it just does; but it comes from a place that’s magickal, is all I can say.

It was a great feeling anyway. Sometimes, He says that the deprivation I put myself through is for a reason. Like building up pressure you might say. Or a static electricity that when it discharges is near explosive. I can feel that is true.

I went back to Skype to see if He was awake, and when He wasn’t I text a Dom friend that I met through Fetlife. He has been a mentor as well as a friend. When we met last year and He fucked me, it was very intense. He spanked me with so much force and so many times that I had to ask him to stop. It was too late though, I had to hide the bruises and broken blood vessels for weeks so hubby wouldn’t see. It just was such a craving to experience that kind of pounding on me that I couldn’t speak the words to tell him to stop.

He told me that he was going to do some “extreme wax play on his collared babygirl”. I hadn’t heard him say collared before. I just stopped and stared at those two words. Collared babygirl. Two words that have such a hold on me.I haven’t said anything about either to Him in months and months.

In the very beginning, I remember Him saying the words, “wait till I collar you”. My pussy dripped and soaked my panties when He said it. I could feel my skin tingle with some fear thrown in, too. What was all this? What did being collared even mean? I was so clueless about the lifestyle back then. In many ways, I still am. I have very little physical experience with it and none from Him. It’s all just a fantasy (maybe a delusion He sometimes says).

There’s some envy there as well. I dream of a deeper relationship with Him on so many levels, but hoping is senseless. It just causes me such deep disappointment and pain. I’m okay today, though. There’s only offering what I do and not being attached to my wants or needs or getting anything from Him. The more I want, the more I push it away.

Meeting Him, touching Him, being collared by Him, being allowed into His world…physically, emotionally, spiritually; “there is faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting”. Waiting patiently, silently and letting go are the only things I can do with Him. The loneliness in that is a still, sharp pain. And somewhere between love and hate is a prison I can’t escape, even with the door wide open.


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